Narrator: In the 1930s, a young college student named Harry, who had grown up in a devout Jewish household, took the train home to Queens. He was filled with dread, preparing to tell his father, Benjamin, that he no longer believed in God. He found his father wrapped in a prayer shawl, lost in his daily devotions. When Harry confessed that he would no longer keep kosher or attend synagogue, his father didn't react with anger or disappointment. Instead, he looked at his son, smiled, and said, "The only sin would be to pretend." This profound act of acceptance, of valuing authenticity over dogma, sets the stage for a fundamental human question: If we let go of traditional religion, what do we lose? And more importantly, how can we create a life rich with meaning, wonder, and community without it?

In her book Sacred Time: Celebrating Life's Seasons with Wonder and Awe, author Sasha Sagan, the daughter of famed astronomer Carl Sagan and writer Ann Druyan, offers a heartfelt and intelligent guide to answering this question. The book is a framework for building new traditions and repurposing old ones, grounded not in faith, but in the awe-inspiring truths of science, the beauty of nature, and the power of human connection.

Narrator: Sagan argues that the desire for ritual—to mark time, celebrate milestones, and build community—is a fundamental human need, not the sole property of religion. While religions provide powerful, time-tested frameworks for these needs, secular individuals are often left in a void, feeling they must either accept dogma they don't believe in or abandon ritual altogether. The book proposes a third way: to extract the universal meaning from traditions and create new ones that reflect personal values.

This idea is beautifully illustrated by a story from Sagan's own family history about her great-grandparents, Tillie and Benjamin. As poor Orthodox Jewish immigrants traveling across Europe, they could only afford one day-old loaf of bread each day. In a daily ritual of love and sacrifice, they would offer the bread to each other, each pretending not to be hungry so the other could eat. In Sagan's family, this story was passed down not as a religious tale, but as a secular parable about the profound power of love. The ritual's essence—selflessness and devotion—transcended its original religious context, demonstrating that the core values embedded in traditions can be cherished and celebrated on their own terms.

Narrator: For those who don't look to the supernatural for a sense of wonder, Sagan suggests turning to the natural world and the provable, yet mind-boggling, discoveries of science. The book demonstrates how the predictable cycles of the seasons and the astronomical events that govern them provide a perfect, non-denominational calendar for celebration.

Sagan shares a personal tradition her mother invented called "Blossom Day." Growing up in upstate New York, the long, hard winters made the arrival of spring a momentous occasion. Instead of tying this feeling to a religious holiday, her mother created a new festival centered on the first blossom to appear on the dogwood tree outside their window. The day the blossom opened, they would have a tea party and exchange gifts. The ritual wasn't about a deity; it was a celebration of resilience, renewal, and the scientifically verifiable fact of Earth's axial tilt bringing warmer days. By anchoring celebrations to tangible, natural events, we can create traditions that are both deeply personal and universally accessible.

Narrator: Rituals do not need to be elaborate, ancient, or solemn to be effective. Sagan emphasizes that small, consistent, and even playful acts can be powerful tools for strengthening relationships and providing a sense of rhythm to life. These secular rituals serve the same function as a weekly religious service: they mark the passage of time and create intentional moments of connection.

This is powerfully captured in a story about a serendipitous cab ride in Washington, D.C. Sagan and her husband, Jon, were having a tense conversation when their driver, a man from Sierra Leone, overheard them. He insisted that to stay united, they must sing together. When they protested that they were terrible singers, he had them sing the alphabet song with him. The driver’s advice—"Once a week, you must sing together. Be playful and you will stay united"—stuck with them. They adopted this simple, silly act as a weekly ritual. Sagan notes that the vulnerability and shared playfulness of the ritual became a cornerstone of their bond, proving that the most profound traditions can arise from the most unexpected moments.

Narrator: The book extends its framework beyond joyful celebrations to address life's most difficult aspects, such as making mistakes, grappling with injustice, and facing mortality. Sagan argues that concepts like confession, atonement, and remembrance can be adapted into secular practices for personal growth and healing.

Sagan recounts a personal story of "secular atonement." At a dinner party, feeling insecure, she loudly and rudely debunked another guest's belief in tarot cards, humiliating the woman. Wracked with guilt, Sagan realized she had been a "massive jerk." Instead of praying for forgiveness, she took action. She reached out, apologized sincerely, and took the woman to lunch to make amends. This process—acknowledging a mistake, taking responsibility, and working to repair the harm—is a secular ritual of atonement. It demonstrates that we can create our own moral frameworks for self-correction and reconciliation without divine oversight, relying instead on empathy and a commitment to being better.

Narrator: In a universe without a promised afterlife, the book explores how we can find comfort and continuity in the face of death. Sagan suggests that our immortality lies in the memories we create and the stories that are passed down through generations. We live on in the minds and hearts of those who knew us, and in the legacy we leave behind.

This idea culminates in a moving postscript. Sagan, now a mother herself, is asked to play her own grandmother, Rachel, in a scene for the television series Cosmos, which depicts her father, Carl, as a young boy. On a meticulously recreated set of her father's childhood apartment, she watches a young actor playing her father. In that moment, she feels time collapse. She is simultaneously herself, her grandmother, and a link in a chain to her own daughter. She realizes that while her father will never be a flesh-and-blood person to her daughter, he will be real through the stories, the images, and the love passed down. This act of recreation becomes a ritual of connection, proving that we can "time travel" to be with our loved ones through the magic of storytelling and memory.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Sacred Time is the empowering idea that we are all the authors of our own traditions. We are not bound to choose between outdated dogma and a life devoid of ritual. Instead, we have the permission—and the tools—to build a spiritual life that is authentic to our own beliefs. By looking to the awe-inspiring realities of the cosmos, the rhythms of the natural world, and the strength of human love, we can craft celebrations and rituals that are deeply meaningful and uniquely our own.

The book leaves us with a profound challenge: to stop waiting for a higher power to tell us what is sacred and to start identifying it for ourselves. What moments in your life—the changing of a season, a weekly dinner with friends, the anniversary of a loved one's passing—are worthy of being honored? By consciously marking these moments, we can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary and live a life filled with wonder.